Nevermore
by Sakura123
Summary: Sam and Dean go to stop a fraternity from raising Lilith, one of the oldest demons known to man and unwittingly encounter a firefighting family with connections to Azazel and Lilith. Crossover with the film "Backdraft". Discontinued.
1. 1959: Red Sky Morning

_**Nevermore**_

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**Author:** Sakura123

**Rating:** T

**Written:** 1/19TH/09

**Completed:** ??/??/??

**Category:** Backdraft/Supernatural

**Genre:** Family/Supernatural

**Timeline:** Post- _"All Hell Breaks Loose (Part 1 & 2)"_

**Characters:** Dean & Sam Winchester, Ellen Harvelle, Bobby Singer; Stephen & Brian McCaffrey

**Summary:** At the behest of Bobby and Ellen, Sam and Dean go to stop a fraternity from raising Lilith, one of the oldest demons known to man and unwittingly encounter a firefighting family with connections to Azazel and Lilith. Crossover with the film _"Backdraft (1991)"._

**Disclaimer:** _Backdraft_ and all things related are property of Ron Howard and Universal Pictures/Studios; _Supernatural_ and all related are property of The former WB/TheCW, Warner Bros., and Eric Kripke. Storyline and Original Characters are property of the author, me. All rights Reserved.

**Authors Note (1/19****TH****/09):** My second _Supernatural_ Fanfiction, this one I decided to try to Crossover with _Backdraft (my current obsession)_; if only because the brothers share something a similarity in character and I'm really hopped on _Backdraft_. Also, I apologize if none of the details in this prelude aren't accurate to women in labor/childbirth, and I'm not even particularly sure about the rules and procedures of the **NICU** back in the 1950s (or 1959).

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**1. 1959: Red Sky Morning**

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**

Mary Elizabeth McCaffrey felt her breath hitch violently as another contraction washed over her abdomen, this one worst than the last. She doubled over in pain, leaning over to the left where her husband resided, holding her hand. It was almost time to bring their first child into the world. Patience made waiting for 25 hours bearable, but the pain was more than she could handle. Her mother said labor wouldn't be walk in the park, even for a physically fit young woman like herself, but Angela paid little heed to the warning, too overwhelmed by the life growing inside her.

Conception was no problem for her or Dennis, it was finding the right time that was the problem. She was a nurse and Dennis was a fireman; They worked different shifts, odd hours, and more often than not she'd be working later than he would. The time spent convincing this child was during her off day. She went over to the firehouse to visit him and ended up making move to him inside one of the fire trucks. Luckily no one caught them in the act, but Mary was a little ashamed of herself afterward and went to a confessional before she talked to Dennis about it. The end result of their moment of passion was the swollen belly that was housing the little boy, now trying to escape.

Mary let out a howl of pain as another contraction occurred, not two minutes after the last one. She did her best to ignore the frightened look on her husband's face and focused on bearing the pain. "Your doing great sweetheart," She heard Dennis say. Mary wanted nothing more than to tell him "shut up, your aren't the one going through labor!", but another contraction hit her.

"Okay, Mrs. McCaffrey, you can push now," Her doctor, David Berkowitz, announced in a tone too casual for her liking. Without hesitation, Mary did as she was told. Dennis held onto her hand she struggled to bring the child out of her body, he gritted against the pain tingling in his smushed fingers. When she stopped, the doctors and nurses encouraged her to continue on, monitoring her progress with mild surprise on their faces. _They act like they've never seen a woman give birth,_ she thought wryly. Another contraction occurred during her final push, a swell of relief washed over her when she nurse revealed a small figure cradled in her hands. Mary fell back against the pillows behind her and heard herself laughing like a madwoman. It was finally over, he was here. Unconsciously she brought her arms up to receive her son, never noticing Dennis' hand clasped around hers. "Give him to me," She whispered breathlessly to the doctors.

They paid her no heed to her words. The joy Mary and Dennis felt just seconds ago was quickly smothered when they realized their child wasn't crying, not a sound came from his tiny body. They watched in horror as their child was raced over to the other side of the room. "What's wrong with my baby?" Mary asked, alarmed. doctors and nurses gathered around the tiny frame, blocking him from view. Through the gaps of space between the doctors she saw a breathing apparatus covering his face. Her resolve crumbled. "What's wrong with my Baby?! What's wrong with Stephen!?"

* * *

Dennis and Mary stood outside the NICU, watching their child slumbering inside the incubator, wired to machines that helped him breathe. Mary was like a statue beside him, watching with wide brown eyes as the nurses checked on Stephen. Nothing else mattered to her in that moment. It was hard to give her any sort of comfort when she flinched at the tiniest touch of his arm currently snaked around her waist. He remembered how distressed Mary became when the doctors didn't respond to her question; He and a nurse struggled to keep her on the bed while resuscitated Stephen. He prayed harder than he ever remembered before in his life.

Prayed that God would spare his child, if only for the sake of his wife. And it would seem his prayer was answered, but the Stephen wasn't out of the woods yet. For some reason his lungs weren't functioning as they should've. Their doctor supposed it was an infection, but later discovered Stephen's lungs simply weren't strong enough to sustain him yet.

And if sympathetically responding to her child's plight, Mary was slow in recovering from her ordeal. Dennis feared some complication happened during the child birthing, but Dr. Berkowitz assured him that this type of fatigue was normal with first time pregnancies. Still, Dennis worried. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. McCaffrey, how are we today?" Nurse Harper inquired, retrieving her clipboard from all the wall. Dennis looked at the nurse over his wife's head. "Okay, considering..," Dennis answered shortly, tightening his hold on his wife.

Mary leaned against him, her eyes still trained on the baby in the other room. Harper allowed herself to look away from the clipboard long enough to regard Mary with curious eyes. "Oh, yeah…!" Dennis and Mary were startled out of their reverie by the sudden outburst from the nurse. Nurse Harper jabbed a thumb toward the end of the hall on Dennis' end. "Dr. Berkowitz wants to see you," She said.

Dennis raised an eyebrow. "Did he say why?" He asked. Nurse Harper shrugged her shoulders. "I think he wants to give you a progress report on Stevie." Dennis frowned at the flippant use of Stephen's nickname but did nothing to correct the young woman. It wasn't like he could anyway, not without sounding nuts. "Alright, I'll be back. Mary?" He paused in mid step, his arm hanging loosely around her. Mary turned her head slightly, eyes shifting to meet her sleep deprived husband's gaze. "I'll be fine. Go on," She whispered, speaking for the first time in days. Dennis pressed a quick kiss to her hair and departed.

Jeannie Harper watched Dennis' retreating back until he vanished around the corner. Adjusting her cat glasses on her nose, she stepped closer to Mrs. McCaffrey. Mary paid the frumpy nurse no mind until there was nearly no space between them. Mary glanced at Jeannie with puzzlement, unsure why the woman smiling at her dared to invade her personal space. Jeannie smiled at her for another moment before placing her hand on the observation window. "How are you Mrs. McCaffrey?" She asked. "How's little Stephen doin'?" Mary's brow furrowed, she cast the woman an odd look. Why would she be asking her this question? Wasn't it her or the doctor's responsibility to maintain a log of some sort on how her child was doing? "Come with me, please," Jeannie moved away from Mary toward the NICU's entrance.

Now Mary was really confused; The nurse was going into the NICU without the proper gear and wanted her to follow. Mary cast an unsure glance around both ends of the halls; there was hardly anyone around and those present really didn't seem to be paying attention to her or the nurse, now inside the NICU. Against her better judgment, Mary found herself moving away from the observation window and venturing inside the room where Stephen slept. It felt wrong to breath the air inside, every fiber in her being was telling her to turn back, but not because of the lives she might've been contaminating with her mere presence.

She spotted Nurse Harper next to Stephen's incubator, her hand inside the small box and messaging Stephen's round stomach. Mary's maternal instincts kicked in immediately. "Don't touch him! Your not supposed to touch…" Her words faltered when the machinery began to malfunction and the lights flickered violently. Harper looked up from Stephen's incubator, yellow-green eyes flashed in the darkness descending around the two women. "In your honest opinion --- how do you think our boy is doin'?" Jeannie asked again. Mary found herself unable to respond.

* * *

Dennis spent he better part of his time searching for Dr. Berkowitz in the hallways of the hospital, wondering where the man could've vanished. Better yet, why didn't ask Nurse Harper where he was before he walked off? _Such an idiot,_ he thought to himself. According to Harper, the good doctor wanted to give him an update on Stephen's condition. But then it got him to thinking; Why would Dr. Berkowitz call him away from his family when he could've easily came to them instead?

Wouldn't the man actually have to come visit Stephen to give a proper status check up? As these thoughts ran through his head, Dennis was starting to turn back. No sooner than he did though, he spotted Berkowitz approaching him with a rather perplexed look on his face. Dennis felt the tension in his body alleviate some. "Mr. McCaffrey, this is a---"

"One of the nurses said you had something to tell me?" Dennis sighed, his brow furrowing. The Doctor blinked. "What?" Dennis reframed from rolling his eyes at the man. "Nurse Harper said -- she said you wanted to talk to me about _my son_. About Stephen," He clarified, a little annoyed. Where was this doctor's head?

"No, I understood that part, Mr. McCaffrey," Dr. Berkowitz started, "but why would she tell you that? I haven't seen Stephen since last night and---" Berkowitz words faltered, his gaze shifted upward as the lights began to flicker throughout the hallway. Dennis' twisted about in a circle, wincing at the sudden loss and gain of illuminated provided by the fluorescent lights. Everyone that stood in the hallway stopped whatever they were doing, shocked by the spectacle going on around them. However, they were snapped out of their daze when the alarms started to go off in various rooms. The doctors scrambled to attend to the flat lining patients.

Quicker than Dr. Berkowitz could pull himself together, Dennis took off down the hall, back to the NICU Unit. The doctor followed suit. When Dennis and Berkowitz arrived, the NICU was swarming with nurses and screaming babies, what few were able to do so. "What in Gods name happened?" David murmured, panicked. The entire hallway was alive with the sound of panicked doctors and failing equipment. Dennis looked about the hall for Mary, unaware Dr. Berkowitz had left his side and ran down the hall. He focused on the observation window and spotted her standing in the middle of the floor with a bundle in her arms. Disregarding the rules, Dennis bolted away from the window and rushed inside the NICU.

He ignored the looks he got from the nurses, focusing only his wife as a realization hit him. Stephen laid in his mother's arms, red faced and wailing at the top of his lungs, just like he was supposed to. Tripping over his feet, Dennis made his way over to Mary. Mary looked up from trying to calm her baby down, smiling unconsciously at her husband as she adjusted Stephen in her arms.

Dennis was at a loss for words, he looked to his son then to his wife, trying to understand what was happening. His son had been in the neonatal unit for week, machines aiding his breathing; His wife was a shell of her former self, not one sign of life outside of basic functions like eating. She was sobbing mess because she believed that she did something to harm their child. Now she was beaming at him, their child was more alive than he'd been when he arrived. "What happened?" Dennis managed to ask. An nervous-giddy laughter escaped Mary, she adjusted the boy in her arms again, no longer trying to calm him down. "I-- I don't know! I was talking to -- I was, uh--" She looked around the room, confused. "I think I fell asleep--"

"What?!"

"---I woke up on the floor and I found him next me crying. _Crying_, Dennis! He's okay," Mary finished. Dennis didn't believe it for a second, but he was so overwhelmed by the kicking and screaming child that he was willing to over look it for the moment. Shakily he started to reach for Stephen, Mary noticed his hesitance and smiled. "He's not gonna bite," And with that she handed the boy over to Dennis before he could recoil. Almost immediately Stephen stopped crying. Amidst the chaos around them, Dennis marveled at the crystal blue eyes that stared up at him through half closed eye-lids. "Hi, Stevie," He whispered, his finger brushing the boy's cheek.

* * *

**(TBC)**


	2. 1966: Red Sky Night

**2. 1966: Red Sky Night**

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"Ho, hey, Brian, don't eat that!" Dennis chided softly, removing the compact mirror from his son's grip. Brain let out of an whine, not pleased that his new toy had been taken from him. He sat perched upon the stool, watching his father move across the kitchen, struggling to prepare breakfast for him and Stephen. Stephen sat on the counter next to Brain, fiddling with the buttons on his oversized flannel shirt. "Dad, when are we gonna eat? I'm hungry," Stephen grumbled.

"Movin' as fast as I can, Stevie," Dennis replied. Stephen muttered something under his breath that Dennis didn't quite catch, he raced back over to the stove and turned the burner off. Lifting the frying pan off the stove he tilted the pan and dumped a generous serving of scrambled eggs onto his son's plate. "Is that for me?" Stephen asked, excited.

"Yes it is," Dennis replied distractedly. Stephen jumped down from the counter, he hurried by his father and grabbed the plate off the other counter. Content, Stephen sat quietly at the table as he ate. Once the rest of the eggs and hash browns were cool enough, Dennis sat Brian down at the table next to his brother and served him his breakfast. Brian made a try for Stephen's eggs, accustomed to his brother's sticky fingers Stephen simply moved the plate out of his reach. "Eat your own," He snapped. "I want it!" Brian yelled, reaching for Stephen's plate again.

"Brain, eat your own food, baby," Mary McCaffrey's voice drifted into the kitchen from the living room. Dennis turned to the kitchen entrance as Mary entered. She wore a blue jumper suit overtop a cream shirt; A belt hung loosely around her waist. Stephen stopped shoveling his food and fending his brother off long enough to admire his mother's beauty. "Meh, rum," He said, food flying from his mouth. Mary smiled sweetly at her son while Dennis gave him a pointed look. Stephen struggled to swallow his food, so he could say something to Dad before he left. In the meantime, Brian picked the food from his plate. "Alright, I gotta go to work," Dennis announced. "I'll see you later tonight." Mary could only nod as Dennis placed a chaste kiss on her lips. He bid his children farewell and headed out of the door.

Turning away from the door she looked to her boys. Both were eating from the other's plate, enjoying their breakfast quietly. When Brian first came home, Stephen was more than a little put off by him. The old age fear that he would become insignificant in his family's life managed to worm its way into his heart. Both Mary and Dennis tried their hardest to keep that from happening, and for the most part, Mary believed it worked out. Once Stephen got used to Brian, he was supportive and took care of him whenever he could. Now that Brain was older, however, Stephen seemed hell-bent on letting his brother know he was the dominant male. He only recently started bossing him around, especially after learning Brain could talk near-fluent English. Brian, however, was no pushover. On various occasions he sent Stephen running to her with a building-block related injury, or tiny teeth marks on his arms. She knew Stephen knew no control when it came to his tempter, so she was surprised that he managed to restrain himself from punching Brain so far. Thankful, but surprised nonetheless. "Hey, boys--," Stephen and Brain glanced up from their plates, food dropping from their mouths. "--How would you like to go out shopping with me?" Mary inquired.

"Me!" Both boys shouted, arms raised. Mary smiled at their enthusiasm. "Alright, finish your breakfast, then," She said. Stephen and Brain resumed consuming their breakfast, taking in large fistfuls of scrambled eggs before they finished chewing the rest properly. Mary turned away from the microwave in time to see the edges of a strange black marking on the lower left side of Stephen's back when his shirt started to ride up. She paused, startled by what she'd seen. "Whoa, whoa, big man," She said, reaching down to stop Stephen from following Brain out of the kitchen. Stephen squirmed in her grasp, Mary paid little attention to his struggle. Gripping the end of his shirt, she pulled it up and examined his back. Right on the lower left side of his back was a five-start symbol encircled by a flame design. A pentagram to be specific. "Honey, where'd you get this?" Mary asked, fingering his back. Stephen twisted away from her icy fingers. "Your fingers are cold!" He complained, trying to pull his shirt down.

"Stephen!" The warning tone in her voice made him stop moving altogether. That tone meant mommy was being serious, that meant he would get in trouble if he didn't answer her question. Turning to face her, Stephen replied, "I got it from miss Moseley." Mary gave him a look. "Miss Moseley?" She repeated. Stephen nodded.

"Yeah, miss Missouri Moseley. She was an assistant teacher or something. She gave us all painted tattoos during coloring hour. She's nice," Stephen explained, adding the last part in the hopes that mom would stop frowning at him.

* * *

The next day, Mary found herself strolling down the halls of Stephen's elementary school, a crumbled piece of paper in hand. After Dennis dropped the boys off at school and went to work, Mary proceeded to look up Missouri Moseley. She found four living in Chicago, two them were dead, one of them was currently out of town and worked for a newspaper column, and the final Missouri, the one she assumed was the woman Stephen met, didn't work for the school. So Mary decided to take the direct approach, visit the school and confront 'miss Moseley' herself.

She wasn't sure why the tattoo bothered her so much. Aside from discovering that the paint simply would not remove itself from her son's skin when she gave him a bath, Mary remembered her mother telling her pentagrams like the one on her son's back were used for protection against negative energies, always demanded that she wear the Star David whenever she stepped outside their home. However, unlike her mother, Mary believed in negative energies and evil spirits about as much as the next person. And she was not comfortable with the idea that someone decided to violate her son's body for their own religious purposes.

The very thought of it reminded her of that night in the NICU. She never told anyone, not even Dennis, what went on between her and the nurse, Harper. It'd only been seven years since that day. Surely she had three more years left before she could start to really worry? Stopping at the principal's office, she raised a hand to knock when the door opened. Angela stepped back, surprised to find herself confronted with a young woman of color and not the stodgy old man, Mr. Peters.

She looked no older than sixteen or seventeen years of age, the girl gave her a sort of knowing look. "Took you long enough to get here," She said. Mary blinked. "I'm sorry?" She said. The teen continued to look at the older woman with a familiarity that unsettled her. "You wanna talk about Stephen, am I right?" The girl commented more than questioned. Mary could do nothing but stare at her for another minute, thrown by her straightforwardness. "Where's Principal Peters?" Mary asked. "Off at a Faculty meeting. He won't be there for much longer, so we need to speak real quickly," The girl responded.

"Are you Missouri Moseley?" Mary said, stepping into the office.

"I am. And your Mary Elizabeth McCaffrey," Missouri affirmed. Mary frowned. "Miss Moseley do you work for the school system?"

"Something like that. I'm a student-teacher, covering for Karen Holmes," Missouri explained. "But miss Holmes is back now, correct?" Mary said. Suddenly Missouri's semi-polite smile faded. She lowered her head to hide the hesitant expression that cross her face. When she raised her head, the look on her face was a serious one. "I know you really want to know about the tattoo on your son's back, maybe even why a 'colored girl' was touching your child---"

"I'm not a racist--" Mary started.

"But the truth of the matter is, because of what you've done, what you did for your boy, there are things that are beginning to notice what touched him," Missouri finished flatly. "Things your mama warned you about as child." Mary felt her mouth open and close, her heart raced. How did this girl know about what she had done? How could anyone? What gave her the right to talk down at her like this?

"I don't work for anyone, Mary. I didn't even know about your situation until I met Stephen," Missouri clarified. "To be perfectly honest with you, I was ready to ignore your son, but something compelled me, told me to help. So I helped him the only way I knew how."

"The pentagram," Mary mumbled. Missouri nodded. "But how… how did you know about me? About what I did?" Again, Missouri found herself lowering her head, her hands rubbed together in a nervous manner. "Its' something of a gift really," Missouri answered. "I read people, see into their minds, their souls, without really meaning to. I sense intentions and sometimes, I have… visions---" Mary couldn't help the incredulous look that cross her face and she knew she made a face because of the expression that befell Missouri's. "Don't give me that look, woman. You can sell your soul to the devil, but you don't believe in seers?" Missouri snapped. Mary shifted her feet guiltily, her eyes stinging at the very mention of "selling her soul" to what she denied existed for over two decades.

Missouri sighed. "Truth be told, I don't know if that pentagram will protect your son. This sort of evil ain't the kind to be ignored, repelled or brushed aside. Its comin' for you, and soon," The absolute certainty in the girl's voice frightened Mary. "How soon is _"soon"_? The thing told me ten years," Mary said shakily. _I can't believe your buying into this shit,_ She could hear the Dennis in her mind berate. Missouri shook her head, ignoring the masculine thought that floated through her mind. "All I can tell you is that you've got less than three years," Missouri answered.

A shaky laugh escaped Mary's mouth. "Well that could be any time then!" Again, Missouri said nothing, feeling it wasn't her place to. A moment passed before either woman said anything, Missouri could see the resignation settling in the pallid features of older woman's face. Mary leaned against the door frame, tears rolling down her face. "I thought I would have more time to look after them. My boys, they need me, Dennis needs me," The words were unspoken but Missouri could hear them loud and clear, ringing inside her head.

"I wouldn't worry about your boys; they'll be fine, your husband too. They won't be the same, they'll be fractured, separated, but they'll survive. Endure," Missouri offered to the silent mother. Mary's gaze widened slightly, taken aback by the unbidden response to her thoughts from the teenage girl. She sounded so old, like she'd lived two lifetimes on this planet and was worn down by it.

"Well, what about me?"

"What about you, Mary? What do you think is going to happen to you?"

"Well, I did this for him! He was going to die before he got a chance to live! I couldn't bear the thought of living without him, so I -- so I acted when I was given the opportunity. I did what my mother would've done in my place, what any mother would've done if it was their child!" Mary cried.

"No, you did this for _you_," Missouri corrected. "Now, I don't hold that against you, but now you've gotta face the consequences of your actions. You sold your soul in exchange for your son's life. You don't walk away from that unscathed, you don't." She paused watching Mary's eyes growing wilder, angrier at her words. "Not only does it want you, but it wants your son as well." Mary's anger faltered, it wanted her son as well? "B-b-but how? That wasn't part of the deal, she can't have him!" Mary exclaimed.

"Demons make their own rules, ma'am. You can agree to one thing, but they'll just rewrite the contract when it suits them," Missouri stated.

"How do I stop her?"

Missouri shook her head. "Ain't no proper way to stop it, just slow it down. Salt, protection symbols, blessing the house. Charms. That will keep it off your property for a little while, but not for long. You'll only be delaying the inevitable." Mary's tear stricken face hardened suddenly. "As long as it'll keep my family safe, I can live with what happens to me," Mary responded.

"I hope you can," Missouri mused.

* * *

Dennis returned home that night, the boys were fast asleep and Mary was waiting for him in their room. He took his time in the shower, watching the soot and grime he missed at the firehouse run down into the drain. He emerged from the bathroom a half hour later, muscles finally relieved of a whole day of tension, to catch the tail end of Mary's sobbing fit. When he asked what was bothering her, she just shook her head and asked, "You know I love, don't you Dennis?" The question, like always, caught him off guard.

Ever since Stephen's birth, Dennis got the feeling Mary felt like she was ever going enough for her family, never expressing her affection enough to them. She lightened up a little when Brain was born, and Dennis believed it was just a result of hormones post-pregnancy. _"Hormones, Dennis? If she's still acting like that years after her first baby, then there's somethin' wrong with your woman,"_ He remembered Adcox saying.

What did he know? Axe was twenty-five years old (a baby compared to Dennis), he wasn't married, he certainly didn't know women. Mary's depression persisted, and whenever she would pop the question, time and time again Dennis found himself saying, "Yes, I know. I never doubt it Mary, and neither do the boys." This was the first time, however, he ever caught her crying about her affections. Dennis was at her side in an instant, holding as she sobbed. When she finished, Mary pulled away and was quick regain most of her composure. Dennis kept his hold on her forearm light, watching as she breathed through her hiccups. Mary was weird, even when they were dating, but he began to wonder if this depression of her was really serious.

Upon noticing she quieted down, Dennis pulled her into a hug which she gladly received. "You okay, now?" He said. Mary nodded quickly, wiping away the last trail of her tears. "Yeah, I'm okay now," She replied, leaning her head against his shoulder. Dennis exhaled quietly, he moved his hand on her back in a circular motion, listening to her hiccup. He was surprised the boys hadn't woken up; they were usually light sleepers, awakened by the tiniest things. Dennis chuckled. "You've gotta stop doin' this to me, Liz," He sighed.

"What?" Her voice was muffled by his skin, he shivered. "Not telling' me what's botherin' you. I tell you everything that's bugging me, but you clam up as soon as I want to talk about your problems," There was an edge to his voice, the kind he only got when he started to frustrated. Pulling away from him, Mary regarded his worried expression with genuine regret. Tracing the outline of his square jaw with her finger, she captured his gaze. "I know, and I _swear_, first thing tomorrow I will tell you everything you want to know. It just too much to get into tonight," Mary promised. Dennis nodded, he would hold her to that.

"Do you need help drying off?" Mary asked, playing with the towel around his waist. "That depends," Dennis replied. "Depends on what?" She said, raising an eyebrow. Dennis grinned. "Depends on how fast you can turn the light out," Came the coy reply. The lamp was off before he could bat an eyelash.

* * *

Dennis felt his eyes open at the sound of a scream. He shifted underneath his covers, trying to untwist his legs from the heap on top of him. The first time in weeks he managed to get some sleep since before Donald Bartle arsons and someone had the balls to wake him up! It was another second before he heard the scream again, he turned on his left side to check on Mary only to find Brian's large blue eyes staring down at him. Suddenly he was mortified. What was Mary thinking, leaving one of the boys in the bed while he was still naked? "Brian? What are you doin' in here, kiddo?" He asked, half asleep. Brain grabbed his shoulder and shook him as hard as his little arm could. "Mommy and Stevie are in trouble!" He cried.

Dennis gave him a puzzled look, but before he could ask what his youngest meant another scream echoed through the hall. Dennis immediately recognized it as Mary's. Dennis leapt from the bed, stumbling into his boxers. "Stay here!" He shouted, running out of the room. No sooner than he entered the hallway he spotted the familiar orange glow of a fire. _Oh, no._ He rushed forward, wishing he had a hose with him. "Mary? Stephen!" Dennis stumbled over the threshold of Stephen's bedroom. The room was alight of the smell of burning wood, plaster, and paint, but his surroundings were untouched. Not a trace of smoke or flame anywhere.

"Stephen--" His eyes fell on the small body lying on the floor, tangled in his covers. A strand of burning hair fell into his line of sight, his eyes averted upward and there he found the fire raging above him, spreading out across the ceiling. But there was something else there as well; A body! Dennis' eyes widened as his heart came to a complete stop. The body was Mary, he recognized that petrified look of terror anywhere. He fell back against the door frame, unable to comprehend what he was seeing, his mouth flapped like fish out of water, his scream lodged in the center of his chest, choking his lungs.

She was on the ceiling, sprawled across the burning surface as though she were lying on the ground. Her hair, her clothes defied gravity, stuck to the wall like she was. The fire raged around her, billowing out from behind her, yet, as far he could tell, she wasn't burning. Her trembling gaze was transfixed on a single spot below her. Unconsciously, his eyes shifted downward again, Stephen was still lying face down on the floor. He felt his body seize up at the sight of the shadowy figure now standing over his son. Dennis saw himself react before he felt it. He charged with every intention to knock the assailant on his ass, however, before he got remotely close to the invader, he was flung across the room into the dresser. Dennis slumped to the ground, clutching his throbbing head, his vision swam in and out of focus. He struggled to maintain consciousness, focus on the prone figure of his seven year old son lying on the floor across from him.

The shadow man leaned over Stephen again, Dennis could see the faint trail of a liquid make it way down Stephen's face onto his parted lips. This as all just a bad dram, he needed to wake up now, Mary needed to wake him up. _Please let this be a nightmare._ The pain in his head increased as the smoke choked the air, Dennis screamed at himself to move, but his body refused to do as he commanded. "Stephen…" He choked out as darkness filled his vision.

When he came to, Dennis found himself staring up at the ceiling of an ambulance. All around him he could hear the sounds of sirens and radio chatter. For a moment he was confused, unsure if he was still sleeping, perhaps in front of the television or at the station. Then the memory of his wife pinned to the ceiling came rushing back to him. Dennis shot up into a sitting position, calling out for Stephen. Were he and Brian alright? He was overcome by a coughing fit that wracked his body, he felt the weight of the ambulance shift as someone climbed inside. "Dennis, you okay?" It was Adcox, which meant the fire department wasn't far behind.

"Axe --- Axe, the kids. Liz…," Dennis struggled to speak against the burning in his lugs. They tightened with every word he tried to say. Adcox held Dennis in place when he tried to haul himself off the gurney. "Stephen and Brain are okay, the guys are watching them while they get checked out," John explained. "Stevie's a little banged up, had some blood on him, but as far as we could tell it wasn't from him. Brian's okay too, just a little scared." Dennis breathed a short sigh of relief, his kids were okay. That was good.

"What about Elizabeth, is she okay?" Dennis asked, praying that he saw was nothing more than a nightmare, or some stress related hallucination. Mary was elsewhere in the house when the fire broke out. When Axe remained silent, Dennis feared he was only confirming what he saw was real, or at the very least, a indication that something bad happened to her. "Mary-- she--" Axe paused, swallowing against the knot in his throat. "She didn't make it Dennis. I'm sorry."

He felt Dennis go rigid, the man's eyes watered instantly as the foundation of his control crumbled beneath him. "She's -- She's not dead, Axe…" He said, quietly.

"Denny--"

"She's not dead--"

"No, Dennis, she is. We found her body in Stephen's bedroom…," Axe trailed off at the sight of Dennis' clenched teeth. Dennis searched the face of his friend, hoping he would find some miniscule trace of a lie; Mary couldn't be dead, the words didn't come together for him, didn't make sense. They still had a life to live together, the boys still needed her, she couldn't be dead yet.

Dennis lowered his head, allowing his emotions to overcome him. "I'm sorry," The words fell from Adcox's lips like an empty promise. He could do nothing to comfort his friend, Dennis fell against Axe and sobbed. Outside, the McCaffrey household was a burnt out husk of it former glory. Brain sat next to Stephen on the Engine 17 rig, watching the smoke rise up out of their bedroom windows. Stephen draped the blanket around himself and Brian, pulling it tighter around their bodies. "What happened to mommy?" Brian asked, looking to his big brother. Stephen didn't answer, he stared up at the house with dull eyes, searching for the monster from the end of his bed.

* * *

**(TBC)**


	3. 1991: May 24th, 1991

**3. 1991: May 24****th****, 1991**

* * *

Brian felt himself grow cold, the heat seemed to have been sapped right out of him as he watched a doctor go over his brother's body and officially pronounce him D.O.A. "What was the time of death again?" He inquired. "Uh," The medic checked his watch. "He flat lined at 11:45pm." The doctor nodded curtly, scribbling the bit of information on the clipboard. Brain watched him hand the clipboard to the medic, then watched as they carted Stephen away to the morgue. The little boy in him wanted to scream.

After their parents died, Stephen was the one constant in his life (aside from Adcox and their mother's sister, their aunt). Stephen took on the role of the parent like a duck to water. Brain, for the most part, allowed it without too much resistance. Stephen was always the first to rise, he made breakfast, washed their clothes, helped him with his homework, all by the age of 12. You name it, when they weren't getting on each others nerves, Stephen did it.

Brian was grateful for it, it distracted him and Stephen from the ordeal that was Dennis McCaffrey's funeral, not three weeks ago at the time. Their aunt Dakota thought Stephen was overcompensating, that he needed to give himself time to grieve. Like a firecracker, Stephen would go off on anyone who tried to get him to stop and think about the fact that their dad was dead. "I have to look after my brother, Dakota. You don't think I'm grieving enough? I have a brother in the other room who reminds me everyday, that dad is dead. I hate him, how could he leave us like that?!" Brian remembered the exchange like it was yesterday, remembered he thought Stephen meant that he hated _him,_ not their father.

It stuck with him for the longest time. Afterward, no one bothered Stephen about his "grieving process" again, until he visited the firehouse on his fourteenth birthday. Brian was nine, he was playing on the pole when he heard crying in the other room. He followed the sound until he found Stephen leaning against the fire truck, Axe standing next to him with a hand on his shoulder. Brian was so startled by the scene that he tripped over his own feet in his escape (Stephen didn't need to know that he saw him crying, he deserved that much privacy). Stephen stopped crying immediately, he became embarrassed when he saw Brian. Quickly, he composed himself and dragged Brian out of the firehouse, bidding Axe a good afternoon. They didn't speak until they reached Dakota's house, but Brian never brought up the "crying" incident, much to his brother's relief. Afterward, Stephen lightened up a bit, wasn't so astute in taking care of him, Brian actually felt like he had a brother again, like it was okay to make fun of him again.

Their rapport was stable for the longest time, they fought, they joked, ignored and schemed with each other until Brian turned eighteen, the legal age of adult privileges. He couldn't stand how things changed so rapidly around him. Stephen spent less time with him, too distracted by his girlfriend, Helen, and was moving out of their aunt's house to live with her, yet still thought he could tell him what to do. Brian didn't take to Stephen's bossing around as lightly as he did when he was a kid, and let his older brother know he was old enough to make his decisions. He didn't need to be mothered, Brian was his own man. But even when Stephen wasn't bossing him around, Brian was set off by the tiniest things and by the time Stephen was out of the house, the two rarely spoke to each other anymore. Stephen immersed himself in becoming a career fireman and dealing with newly-wedded responsibilities with Helen. Brian was busy with maintaining funds for collage with multiple jobs until he finally got the bright idea of becoming a fireman himself. It was just a curiosity he needed to satisfy, a fantasy he wanted to live since he was a child.

So, as soon as he graduated, Brian entered the academy at the age of 20. Stephen, 25, was now juggling the responsibility of his and Helen's baby, Sean, and fighting fires. Brian took the time to get his nephew and finally talk to Stephen. His older brother was only too happy to oblige to Brian's sudden appearance, more eager to ask him how things were going down at the academy than anything else. Brian reintroduced himself to Helen again; she was a charming, strong-willed woman, he could see why his brother was attracted to her. He was in awe at the infant boy, demanding the constant attention of his parents. Stephen was more than willing to devote all his attention to Sean; Fatherhood came like second nature to his brother.

Sean was an eerie reflection of his brother, right down to the blue eyes. "Does he ever stay, you know, still?" He remembered asking. "Hardly!" Stephen replied, adjusting the squirming Sean in his arms. Sean squealed gleefully, tugging on Stephen's shirt. "You were like this when you were a babe. Mom hated it when you pulled on her hair-- ow!" Brian laughed as Stephen tried to remove his finger from his son's mouth. The next instant, Brian found himself in a state of panic. Stephen got back on the issue of his time at the academy, asking if he was enjoying any of the lessons or if he ever got excited thinking about going into an actual fire one day.

This lead to a detailed recount of the first time Stephen faced a real fire, Brian listened, doing his best to hide his uneasiness towards the subject. Stephen's tale lasted until Helen strolled into the living room and politely asked her husband to change the subject. Before Stephen could argue, Brian redirected their conversation back to Sean. When Brian went home, he was unable to sleep. Stephen's romanticizing of the fire brought up those bad memories he never wanted to think about, memories he thought he succeeded in burying. He remembered being terrified of fire after their mother died. The smallest flame would send him off on a crying fit.

Dennis, who was an emotional wreck himself at the time, struggled to clam him down, rarely succeeded. Stephen was the only one he managed to calm him down, and it was same after their father died as well. He wasn't sure when he stopped being afraid, he just woke up one day and never paid the dancing fire on the stove any attention. The day Brian went back to the academy, he found himself faced a simulation of a Backdraft. He fainted before fire even got going, his friends never let him live down. Brian couldn't believe how badly he froze up. The next time it happened he suffered a panic attack, and it was right there Brian knew he couldn't be a fireman. Not until he got over his fear again.

He quit the next day and prayed that no one told his brother about it. That wish, of course, went unfulfilled. Stephen came over to his apartment demanding to know why the guys at the station were gossiping the fact that his brother dropped out of the academy. If Brian hadn't felt so guilty, he would've told Stephen to "fuck off". The look of utter disappointment and anger on Stephen's face made him feel three inches tall. "Well, can you tell me why you quit?" Stephen asked, calmly as he could. The words, "Because I didn't want to be a fireman. I'm not in love with fire," came out of his mouth quicker than he could reconsider them.

Stephen blinked, taken aback my his brother's admission. A scoff escaped him. "You think I'm obsessed with fire, Brian?" It was more of a statement than a question. With the way Stephen was looking at him, Brian might as well have called him an arsonist. So he did the only thing that he thought he could at the time. He answered in the affirmative, knowing it would piss his brother off. It was a partial truth anyhow. "Yeah, I do. And while we're on the subject, I find it extremely annoying that you walk around like nothing has happened, or will happen to you!" Brian proclaimed. Now Stephen was beyond lost. "What the _hell_ are you talking about?"

"I mean, our parents died in fires, Steve. Most people go out of their way to distance themselves from that kill their loved ones. But you -- you embrace this "job" and sometimes, I swear, its like mom and dad never existed for you! You pretend like they -- they just vanished for you didn't they?" Brian remembered being knocked on his ass barely a second after he finished speaking. He cradled his throbbing jaw and bit down on his bleeding lip, Stephen stood over him fuming with rage.

"You've got a lot of a fuckin' nerve sayin' that to me. I am reminded everyday of my life that they died in a fire. What do you expect me to do Brian? Mourn for the rest of my life? Get a job in accounting? Being a fireman is all I want to be. I go into those buildings so I can keep people from ending up fucked like we were. I get to help people, give them a second chance with their families! I make a difference!" Stephen was yelling at the top of his lungs, face red with anger.

Unconsciously, Brian found himself searching for the landlord's footfalls, the old man hated disruption in his building. "I'm not gonna run away because of what happened to mom and dad. I'm doing something important, something they could be proud of. I'd be nothing if I ran. If I'm obsessed with anything, its being half as good as my old man was. What's your excuse?"

Brian suckled on his busted lip, his anger deflated and his pride wounded. "I just don't want to be a fireman anymore," Was all he could bring himself to say. Stephen stared down at him as if he wasn't sure he heard his brother right, condescending eyes burnt a new hole into Brian's already tattered pride. He walked away from the apartment doorway afterward. Brian sat on the floor for what seemed like a lifetime, Stephen's words hanging in the air, buzzing loudly in his head. He retreated back into his apartment and nursed a couple bottles of beer. He stared at his apartment walls for three hours before finally summoning up the courage to pick up the phone and call Stephen's house. Helen answered the phone, sleep evident in her tone. Suddenly he felt rotten for calling. "What do you want, Brian?" Helen asked. "C-can I talk to Stephen, please?" He said.

"No, he's not feeling well right now," She whispered. This gave Brian pause. "He-- is he alright?"

"Yeah, it just a migraine. He gets them from time to time," Helen replied. "…Did you two get into a fight? He came home in a mood."

"N-no, I haven't seen Stephen since yesterday," He lied. There was a hum of suspicion in Helen's sigh, she didn't believe him. "Alright. I'll tell him you called." And Helen hung up before he could thank her.

Thinking back now, Brian wished he told Stephen about his phobia of fire instead of letting him assume he stopped because he thought his brother was obsessed with it; Maybe their relationship wouldn't have ended up in a shambles (so to speak). Stephen would've understood, maybe even helped him overcome his fear quicker than he did. Now Stephen was gone, dead before they could really be brothers again. Brian had nothing but regrets, which far outweighed the moments peace between them. God, what was he going to tell Helen and Sean? Everything was fucked now. Brian lowered his head into his hands, the fireman's jacket felt heavier than before.

* * *

John Winchester heaved out a heavy breath as he leaned back against the wall of the waiting room. Beside him, his boys, Dean and Sam, sat quietly, their gazes focused on the their mud covered shoes. They'd been sitting in the hospital for last hour and a half, waiting for someone to look at Dean's wrist which he sprained in a fight with his brother. John remembered stepping into the motel and feeling his heart stop at the sight of his oldest cradling his arm against his chest, and Sam on his knees apologizing like he'd caused the end of the world. John hoped to get out of Chicago without incident.

He spent the better part of his time researching and tracking down a trickster who managed to collect a mass of bodies from various graves and set them loose on unsuspecting wanders in the park, near the lake. It was a pain in the ass trying to survey its hunting ground without being attacked by reanimated bodies. He must've cleaved about a dozen heads from their bodies before finally calling Bobby for assistance. Bobby gave him a incantation fore a locator spell and a quick reminder to use the stake when he went in for the kill. John thanked him, ignoring the last comment. The Redneck still didn't think he was any good at the hunt and was neglecting his children, but John was used to it by now, the open and implied criticism regarding his fighting and parenting skills. He was no novice when it came to the art of death (he was a soldier after all), and despite what people thought, he was doing better than he expected in concerns with raising Dean and Sam. Bobby's little trick worked perfectly: he found the trickster with little trouble and after a little tumble with the undead, drove the steak into the heart of the creature. Making sure he left no traces for the police to follow, John hauled ass to the motel. Now he was sitting In the hospital, his least favorite place in the world.

"Winchester? John Winchester?" The elder Winchester looked up from the floor toward the sound of the voice. A young woman, the doctor, looking to be no older than thirty eight, glanced around the hall for John when the man stood up. She was slightly taken aback by the height and rugged appearance of the man approaching her. "I'm John Winchester," He said with a sigh. The doctor nodded, casting her gaze to the sullen boy cradling his arm. Looking down at her clipboard for a quick refresher, she glanced up at the expectant John. "You said your son broke his arm?" She asked. John seemed to release a breath he wasn't aware of holding in. "Yes, he was rough housing with his brother, Sam. I just got back from work and found him favoring his right arm," John explained.

The doctor nodded her head, scanning the board once again. "Okay, well, let's get him into X-ray and see how bad the break is," She said, forcing a smile on her face. John nodded wordlessly, he started to order Dean out of his chair when he noticed Sam's chair was empty. "Dean, where's your brother?" He demanded. Dean snapped to attention, wincing only slightly when he moved his arm. Dean turned to check on his Sam, only to find he was missing from his spot. The color in his face drained completely at the sight of the empty chair next to him. _Crap!_ The memory his other fowl-up crept into his mind and Dean couldn't stop the look of aghast from befalling his face.

He looked up to John, panicked. "He was right here a minute ago," He exclaimed nervously. "Shit," John muttered, running a hand through his hair. Sammy was never one for doing to what he was told. Johnny surveyed the area for a mop top of brown hair and _Thundercats_ t-shirt, but saw nothing besides white jackets and green scrubs. _Damnit._ Looking to the doctor, who'd been ignored for the time, John said, "Doc, could you look after him a while? I gotta go look for my youngest," The doctor nodded. "Of course, I'll be waiting here," She said. John nodded his head in thanks, he hated leaving Dean alone with a stranger, but he needed to find Sam. Giving his eldest a pointed look, John took off down on the hall, calling for Sam. Dean watched his father fall in with the crowd with dismay. He messed up again, disappointed his father, _again_. When was he going to learn?!

"Does your brother disappear a lot, Dean?" The she-doctor asked. Dean gave her a half-hearted shrug. "Sometimes. Not a lot," He responded. The doctor made a noncommittal grunt, her eyes shifting to the left. Dean knew what she was thinking without even trying. He never understood everyone's fascination with the shortcomings of his father, or even why they tried to lay the "abuse" card on him. He was good man doing the best with what he had, he couldn't understand why he was the only who saw it. Sinking further into his seat, Dean's eyes averted to the clock on the wall, the hands hadn't moved since they got here, they were still stuck on 12:34am. He glowered at the wall. He was going to strangle Sam when Dad found him. First chance he got.

* * *

If there was anything adults made perfectly clear to kids like Sam, it was "never take candy from strangers" and "never talk to strangers". Technically, Sam was doing neither, but he got the feeling his dad was going to be upset with him anyway. And John would make it his business to drive his mistakes into his skull until he learned not to repeat them. Just like he did with his silent treatment in the car on the way to the hospital. Sam really didn't mean to hurt his brother; Dean was making sure he knew how to twist an opponents arm the proper way and stupidly, decided to use himself as a test dummy. Well, Sam caught the gist of what Dean was trying to show him a little too well. And John, who was usually impressed by things like that, was not happy to come home and have to take his sons out to the hospital to get his arm set.

Sam didn't try to apologize anymore, he just sat next to Dean like a man waiting for his execution day. Sam had been lazily observing the hall when his eyes fell on a man standing right beside him. Years of watching his father taught him not to jump, he simply watched, his wide eyes particularly focused on the bloodied and tattered side of the man's short sleeved shirt. When Sam blinked, the man was across from him, standing in the middle of the floor. He looked a little younger than John, his sandy brown hair was short, spiky, and wet. Blood ran down the left side of his face from his bloodshot eye. Sam blinked again, the man was now standing further away, the crowd walked through him, confirming Sam's suspicion. _This guy's a ghost._

When the man didn't move any further, Sam got the strange feeling he wanted him to follow him. Out of compulsion, not reason, Sam rose from his chair and went after the ghost, never once looking back to see if his family noticed his absence. Sam was thankful the ghost remained on the first floor and didn't stray too far from where Dean and Dad were. Sam was fascinated by how the ghost seemed to travel without really moving, his feet hovered a few inches above the ground, toes pointed downward. Just as he was gaining ground on the ghost-man, he vanished over the threshold of an open door. Sam stumbled to a halt, surprised. "I guess we're here," He mumbled to himself. Cautiously, Sam approached the doorway hoping he wasn't attracting any undue attention to himself. Peering past the door frame his gaze focused on none other than the ghost himself. He laid in a hospital bed, hooked up to an heart-monitor, IV and breathing apparatus. Another man sat on the other side of the bed, face hidden by his hands. Sam's gaze shifted to the right, across from the bed a blonde woman sat in a chair, observing the ailing man with tears in her eyes. _They must be his family_, he thought.

Suddenly, the ghost-man on the bed started to move. The man and woman sat up in attention, watching nervously as the heart-monitor began to beep rapidly and ghost-man started to convulse a little, back arching off the mattress. Sam looked on as well, no longer concerned about getting back to John and Dean. A cough escaped the man as the woman placed herself on the edge of the bed and took her hold of his twitching hand.

The man's eyes fluttered opened, from this distance it was hard to tell what color they were._ As if that matters,_ he thought. Sam felt himself jump back when the man's head turned to the side, eyes focused directly on him. He started to back away from the door just as someone snapped, "Samuel!" Sam turned in the direction of the voice, a very pissed John Winchester came marching toward him.

_Busted,_ was all that came to mind. Sam looked to the strangers in the room, they watched him, perplexed expressions on their faces. John came up on him before Sam could apologize for invading their privacy. "Sam, what have I told you about wandering off? Huh? What have I told you?" John growled, dragging the boy away from the door. Sam reframed from telling his father how much of a mother hen he just sounded like and kept his gaze downward. "I think I saw a ghost," Sam said. "This is a hospital, Sam. There are more dead people here then there are at a cemetery," John remarked.

"No, I know, but --- he showed up like a ghost and I followed him down the hall. When I got there, to the room, he was alive in the bed," Sam rambled. "How's that possible?" John glanced down at his son, confused. "What are you trying to say, Sam? That the man had a out-of-body experience?" He asked.

Sam shrugged. "I guess," Sam said. Finally, John came to a stop, Sam gulped nervously when his father gripped his shoulders and proceeded to pull away. John lowered himself to the Sam's level, ignoring his evasive movement. "Whatever you saw doesn't matter. You never go off on your own, you never leave your brother's side. Do you understand me, Sam?" John said.

Sam nodded quickly.

"Your brother and I can't protect you if you don't do as your told. Understand?"

"Yes, I understand! I'm sorry for leaving," Sam blurted, hating to repeat, verbally, an affirmative to his father's question. John raised an eyebrow, not so confidant he got the message across to his son. Standing up John proceeded to lead Sam back to Dean. From behind, Helen McCaffrey watched the father and son go down the hall before retreating back inside the room. "Who was that?" Brian asked.

"I dunno. A boy and his father, I think," She replied. Helen sat back down on the edge of the bed, Stephen opened his eyes again. They didn't go any further than half mass, they were red and puffy, sore from being in that chemical fire. Add to the burning in his lungs into the mix and he was a package of pain that clearly indicated the meds were wearing off. Feeling pressure being applied to his hand, he turned his head to the left. Brian watched him worried. "Hey, man, you okay?" The words fell nervously from his mouth. Stephen noted his brother seemed like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Stephen managed a small shrug, struggling to blink, a shaky hand reached up and slid the breathing mask away from his mouth. "Was that -- Sean?" God he sounded horrible. He would never go into another fire without a mask again.

Brian paused for a second, he glanced up at the doorway remembering the curious little boy standing the doorway, a nervous grin graced his features. "Nah, just some kid," He replied. Stephen allowed his eyes to shut, fairly relieved. "Remember, I told you? I took Sean to my folks. He's alright, Stephen," Helen assured. Stephen grimaced at the patronizing tone in her voice. He hated being treated like an invalid, even if that's what he was presently. "…I don't remember," He whispered. "I could've sworn I died…" Brian felt his throat tighten at his words. He watched his brother drift off again. Helen met his gaze, her grip tightening on her husband's hand. Brian said nothing, just watched the troubled expression on his brother's face with concern.

* * *

**(TBC)**

* * *

**Authors Note:** So there you have it, the First three parts of this odd choice of crossover. After watching the _Backdraft_ DVD for a refresher course, I've basically come to the conclusion that Brian McCaffrey lacked a decent sense of commitment, and not so much a fear of fire (though I wouldn't exclude that possibility altogether either), when it came to any profession he decided to delve into. That and, given Stephen's _"Oh, you do? You know how I felt?"_ comment, I was reminded that neither brothers probably faced each other after Brian ditched the Academy six years ago. Nothing like a little elaboration from the imagination. As for the ordeal between Mrs. McCaffrey (who's name turns out to be "Mary Elizabeth McCaffrey". See the film's script, I kid you not.), Missouri, and Azazel? I'll elaborate on that later. Anyhow, let me know what you thought, I would love to hear from you.


	4. 2007: Part One: Motiveless Crime

**4. 2007 (Part One): Motiveless Crime**

* * *

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._ Sam felt the rush of satisfaction and exhilaration each time he forced the knife inside the body. The way the skin would be protest against the pressure applied by the knife, before finally giving way. He felt the blood pour of the wound cover his hands, felt it spray across his face like an ocean mist. He could even feel the body of his victim wriggle beneath him like fish gasping for air.

He continued to drive the knife into his skin, changing his routine, he drove the knife into the body one more time -- into the center of the chest --, and proceeded to slice upward. And that's when he felt it. The detached sense of anguish or unadulterated fear that spread through him. He seemed to brush it off as inconsequential, amusing even, but it persisted. It begged him, pleaded with him to stop. That same distraught part of him wanted to look away, block out of the sight of his brother being butchered like a cow, but he couldn't.

The darker side made him watch, enjoying every moment of his pain. Sam screamed until his throat was raw and just like that, the darkness that consumed him, retreated. When he could see again, he found himself standing over what was left his brother, covered in his blood.

"No!" Sam cried, bolting upright.

* * *

Dean glared sleepily at the digital clock sitting on the bedside table. 3:33am in the morning; The sun had yet to rise and he was kept up by the sex marathon going on the other side the hotel wall of their bedroom, while Sam slept through it as though it wasn't going on. Lucky dog. Turning away from the blinking clock, Dean readjusted himself against the headboard. He'd spent the better part of his early morning watching infomercials before grabbing Sam's laptop to do some searching for a gig, anything to distract him from the events of last week (and Sam's snoring). It wasn't everyday a man sold his soul in exchange for the life of his then-deceased brother.

The brothers made an effort not to discuss it until both of them were strong enough to hold a three hour shouting matching with each other. Dean knew that silent agreement wouldn't last for long; It wasn't in Sam's nature to let sleeping dogs lie. Rubbing his face, Dean scrolled down the Google page with mild interest. He'd forgotten what he was originally looking for and was simply going through the motions, his finger sliding lazily across the touch-sensitive pad of the laptop. Chicago, Illinois was the last place he wanted to be.

After their encounter with the Daeva's, Dean was content with never thinking of the city. He was more concerned with hunting down the demons that had escaped through the gateway opened by Jake. Sam, on the other hand, seemed intent on convincing him to take the gig that Ellen and Bobby were offering. "This was something Ash had picked up on a forum before he---" Ellen paused, regarding her palm for a moment. "---Anyway, apparently, there's a fraternity who likes to mess around with the occult every 5th of May. They haven't really done anything concrete, according to their webmaster, but says they found a summoning ritual for demon named Lilith, ---bringer of all sorts of plagues and nasty diseases--- and their going to try it out. I had totally forgotten about until now," Ellen had explained, extending the paper to Sam. "Think you can check it out?"

While Dean was happy to throw himself right back into work, but he'd wasn't in the mood to run "errands" for Ellen and nearly inquired why she hadn't given to someone else, but one look from his brother stopped him. Trying to investigate a fraternity messing around with demon rituals was going to be difficult with the authorities still scouring for their whereabouts. Clicking on the "next" button, Dean prepared to scroll down to the bottom when a link caught his eye. He wasn't sure where it came from, not a word he jotted down in the search box was in the brief description of the site.

"_Tragedy in Chicago; Senior Fireman kills fellow Fireman and brother_," He read. His finger moved across the pad, intending to position the arrow on the link when he was started out of his concentration by a strangled yell from across the room. Dean nearly tossed the Laptop over the bed, twisting around on the mattress Dean shoved the laptop under his pillow. Sam flailed about on the bed for a good two seconds, hands attacking his shirt as if to wipe away some thing. Dean started toward his bed, prepared to stop his brother's frantic movement when Sam slumped back on the mattresses. Dean made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed, watching as Sam struggled to catch his breath. Sam lifted his head slightly to regard his brother's patient expression; He'd seen Sam wake or experience a vision so many times before that it wasn't even surprising, not really. Sam wondered if he still worried though.

"Vision?" Dean inquired. Sam didn't answer straight away, he focused his attention on ridding his senses of the smell and taste of iron. He looked up from the bed and shook his head. Dean titled his head to the side, curious and somewhat relieved by his brother's negative response. Since with traveling with Sam, the 'vision thing' had become something of a routine he'd grown accustomed to. So when Sam told him he didn't have one, Dean was inclined to believe was lying to him… _again_. "No, I -- it wasn't a vision, honest," Sam groaned, pressing himself against the bed. "Just a nightmare. A honest to God nightmare." Dean watched with wary eyes, unwilling to believe him. "Your sure?" He asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, pretty sure," Answered Sam. "I'm okay, Dean." Dean watched his brother drape his arm across his eyes, exhaustion becoming more apparent in his body language. Rising from the edge of the bed, Dean returned to his own bed and buried his face into the pillow, making a note to return Sam's laptop to its rightful resting place before he noticed it was gone.

* * *

"I can't believe you."

"I meant to put it back--"

"I can't believe you fell asleep on my laptop!"

"You act like I broke the thing---"

"You practically drooled on it, not to mention, left it on all night--!"

"Alright, Sam, you made your point!" Dean snapped. "I'll ask next time."

Sam gave his brother a pointed look, that clearly meant 'like I would let you use it again'. He shoved his laptop into his raggedy backpack, grumbling to himself. Dean rolled his eyes, readjusting his jackets. He didn't mean to oversleep, let alone fall asleep on the laptop under his pillow and have his brother discover it. Why did Sam have to overreact when it came to that slab of metal, it baffled him. "Next time I'll hide the cord," He muttered to himself. The Winchesters completed packing their belongings and made speedy exit out of the motel.

The impala roared down the road, unhindered by the non-existent traffic as they ventured into the city. Sam watched the world fly by in a blur of colors and shapes, his mind not entirely focused on anything except the motion of the car. Turning away from the window, Sam diverted his attention to his brother, who's expression was stony as ever as he concentrated on driving. "So, do we have a plan of action?" He asked, praying his voice was loud enough to be heard over the wind and roar of the engine.

Dean gave a shrug of his shoulders in response, he hadn't gotten that far ahead of himself to be honest; He was still wondering how they were going to infiltrate the University Bobby had given the information on. He knew for sure Sam had a better chance of blending in with the crowd than he did, his brother's seemingly disarming looks and friendly personality gave him that advantage. Him on the other hand, Dean was a little rough around the edges when it came to being social; He was no amateur, no, but for whatever reason, people just seem to become guarded around him. His rugged appearance alone would be enough to raise suspicions. That and the FBI mug shot from the news. "Well, naturally, we find and kill the demon," Dean said finally.

Sam reframed from rolling his eyes at his brother. "Dean, I'm serious. Did you do any research on this 'Lilith'?" Dean grimaced, suddenly remembering why he'd taken Sam's laptop in the first place. "No."

"_No?_" Sam repeated, incredulous. Now, Sam couldn't help but wonder _what_ his brother was doing the entire time with his laptop last night. "No! I forgot," Dean responded, clearly annoyed by the tone in his brother's voice. "You waking up from that "nightmare" didn't help my memory any either." _Oh, so now its my fault you can't hold a simple task in your head? _He thought. Sam decided not to respond vocally to that remark and focused on the world outside his window again. Dean shot a annoyed glance at his brother, unable to keep his eyes completely on the road. "Besides, our yellow eyed son of bitch, notwithstanding, she can't be any harder to kill than your run-of-the-mill demon," Dean retorted.

"When your brief description includes "plague" and "disease", I think it's safe to say that this _isn't_ a run of the mill demon," Sam shot back. Dean nodded his head, scratching the back of his head. His brother had a point. "So where to? Some café with WI-FI, or the library?" Dean asked.

"The library," Sam answered. "We need to cover all our bases if we wanna get this thing done and over with, right?" There was a beat of silence, Sam continued to stare in his brother's direction until Dean grimaced and met his gaze, with an equally annoyed look. "Right," Sighed Dean, leaning back in his chair. Making a turn, he proceeded toward the library, ignoring the small smile that had been to spread on his brother's face. When they arrived, Dean pulled the impala up near the curb at the entrance of the library and let Sam out.

Sam gave something of a half wave to his brother before he proceeded across the lawn, Dean pulled off to find a decent parking space nearby. Sam's eyes examined the large structure of the Chicago Public Library briefly, admiring the crown-like design of its front at the very top. Entering the building he crossed the vast lobby crowded with people, making a bee-line towards the history and mythology section. As he entered the smaller room, the smell of old and new books hit him immediately. Old memories of spending hours in the corner of a library reading book upon books swam in his head.

The small crowd inside paid no attention to him as he strolled past them, heading towards the desk in the center of the room. The librarian glanced up from his computer screen at Sam, eyes studying his outward appearance before finally resting on his face. "May I help you?" He asked, resting his arms on the desk. Sam stopped a few inches away from the desk itself, fidgeting as he figured out how to formulate his question. "Umm, yes, I was wondering, if you had anything on--" Sam paused and allowed himself to chuckle nervously for effect.

The Librarian leaned forward, impatience beginning to show through his otherwise patient expression. "Sorry, its my first time here, so it's a little overwhelming," Sam offered in the way of explanation. The Librarian nodded. "Uh, anyways, I was looking for book on a Semitic mythology? Would you happen to have any books on the subject?" He said. The Librarian gave the young man a long and hard look before retreating back to the computer and typed something in. "Do you have a name?"

"Pardon?" Sam blurted.

"A name, young man. Do you have the name of the book your looking for, or perhaps, the author?" The Librarian repeated. Sam shook his head. "Not, really, sir, no," He lied, "But if you just point me in the general direction of where a book like that might be, I'll be out of your hair." A polite smile graced his features like second nature. "Over there," The Librarian sighed, pointing to the far side of the room. Sam gave a nod of thanks to the man before moving past the desk and toward the isle of shelves.

Systematically, he browsed through the shelves, searching for his desired books when he spotted them; _Hebrew Myths: The Book of Genesis _and, _The Hebrew Goddess_. Snatching both books off the shelf, Sam retreated to a vacant table across from the bookshelf and began to search through the book for any information he could be find. A while later, Dean entered the library, following the directions his brother gave him over the phone. Instinctively, his eyes scoped out the space of the lobby as he approached the entry way of the history and mythology section. It only took him a few minutes to find Sam, hunched over a table on the other side of the room. Dean joined him at the table with a frustrated sigh. Sam shot him a questioning look. "Something wrong?" He asked. "Yes," Dean groused, playing with the ballpoint pen in his pants pocket. "Parking sucks downtown."

Sam hid the smile threatening to spread across his face behind the book he was reading. Slouching in the chair, Dean picked up a book and started to skim through it. "So, did you find anything?" He inquired. Sam shrugged his shoulders, lowering the book back onto the table. "Well, Lilith is of Semitic origin. She is often described as Adam's first wife, before Eve. When she refused to lie beneath Adam, she fled the garden of Eden across the desert and headed for the Red Sea. She gave birth to over a hundred demon children; God sent his angels, Senoy, Sansenoy, and Semangelof to command that she return to Adam. She refused and her children were killed, drowned in the sea. The last one was stricken with a sickness, which much pretty entitled it to a slow and painful death, so as to sow the seeds of resentment in Lilith toward her last child. Later myths describe Lilith as consort of Lucifer, a demoness who frightens or preys upon women and children and lures men away from their wives in erotic dreams like an incubus, devouring their souls. Her arrival is often signified by as "being carried by the wind", which is how she spreads disease and plagues," Sam finished.

"Naturally," The elder Winchester mused. Sam gave a shrug. "Naturally," He echoed.

Dean sat upright in the chair, closing the book he was flipping through, processing all the information Sam just dumped on him. So a bunch of college students were going to raise the consort of the devil, just to get laid by the sounds of it. _Wonderful._ "Does it say how we can kill it?" Dean said. Sam Regarded his brother for a moment then looked down at the book again. His eyes scanned the page twice over and one more time for extra measure, finally he looked up from the book and said, "Nope. There's nothing." Dean was unable to keep his eyebrows from raising. "Nothing?" He repeated. Sam nodded. "Yeah, no apparent weaknesses, not a thing use against it," Sam said. "I still have to check the internet for any information, but, I think we're just gonna have to assume this is just one of those demons we can't kill, just send back or keep from getting out of hell."

Dean frowned at the very idea of such a assumption. Exorcising a demon and sending it back to hell just meant it would be some time before it return to this plane of existence, it wasn't permanent. Dean preferred his demon's dead and non-existent, but without a fully loaded colt or something like it, that was an option that simply wasn't open or available to them. Scratching the back of his head, Dean smiled mirthlessly. "Great, I suppose now all we have to worry about is disguises for the Frat House," Dean sighed, rising from the chair. Sam could only nod in agreement.

* * *

**(TBC)**


	5. 2007: Part Two: Benzin

**5. 2007 (Part Two): Benzin**

* * *

After more time spent in the library, the Winchester's found their way out of the building and headed back for the motel. Sam's search online had come up with nothing, or at least, nothing they didn't already know about, thrown and complied in shrines dedicated in Lilith's name. To say that Dean was unhappy was an understatement; Even a call to Bobby, who had returned to his junkyard with Ellen, could shed no new light on the demon either. "Most of what I know about this demon is from the bible and myths based on her, even then there's nothing on how to _kill_ her," Bobby had groused to Sam over the phone.

Sam could just imagine the older man flipping through the pages of some dusty book from his library, trying not to tear the pages out. "I don't know what else to tell ya boys," The dejected tone in his voice did not go unnoticed by the younger Winchester, "Just make sure those college idiots don't succeed in raising the damn thing, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," The reply came automatically from his mouth. The countless years answering to his father in with those two words were like a default setting in his mind, he couldn't shut it off even if he wanted to. He knew it was the same with his brother. Snapping the phone shut, he attempted to cheer his brother up with a healthy dose of weak optimism. "Look at it this way Dean, if there's nothing more to this demoness than what we already know, then this should be an easy gig." The words weren't out of his mouth for two seconds and Sam could imagine his mental Dean slapping him upside the head.

Sam slouched in the seat when Dean gave him an incredulous look. "Nothing's ever easy with Demons," Dean grounded out, jaw clenched. No, there wasn't much to do except create convincing alias' for the campus grounds and stop the horny frat boys from summoning some succubus-wannabe of a she-demon.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed, nearest to the door and stared at the TV screen with very little interest in what was actually going on in front of him. Across from him, Dean sat the table inside the kitchen on the far side of the room, working on the I.D.'s. He hadn't uttered a word since arriving to the motel. Now Sam wasn't a hundred percent sure, but he had a feeling his brother was probably brooding over past events, like always. _I thought that was your job, smartass?_ Mental-Dean thought, a wry look about him. Sam grumbled something under his breath, slightly embarrassed that he was carrying on a conversation with himself posing as his brother, not sitting just a couple feet from him. He continued to watch the news reporter as she spoke into the microphone as she gestured wildly to whatever was going on in the background, he had the volume down.

The most Sam could make out was the outline of a fire truck, firemen and medics scrambling around or past each other while the reporter was scrambling to get out of the way. Sam couldn't help the laugh that escaped him when a fireman shoved the reporter lady out of the way and the camera was the next to spiral out of control, causing the screen to black out and return to the news anchor, who looked rather surprised. Who would've thought the news was so entertaining?

Dean leaned back in his chair, using his heels to balance himself out. "What's so funny?" He asked. "What?" Distracted, Sam turned away from the screen to regard his brother with a raised eyebrow. When he received nothing beyond a expecting shrug of his shoulders from Dean, Sam turned back to the television.

They were reporting the weather now, in the incident with the reporter forgotten. "Uh, nothing, man," He sighed, sitting up. Every bone in his body popped in retaliation, his muscles unwound appreciatively and Sam found himself making a mental note never to sit that way for too long again. "Hey---" Dean looked up from the round kitchen table, clearly annoyed. Sam ignored it and continued on. "You, uh, almost finished with those I.D.'s?" Sam asked. Dean looked down at the table as if to examine his handy work, the fake identification cards looked perfect in his opinion. You'd had to be a pro to spot that it was a fake, maybe even a guru. Focusing his attention back on his brother, he plastered a huge smile on his face. "Almost," Dean answered.

No sooner did the words leave his mouth, the sound of thunder rolled softly in the distance. It was the first time either of them bothered to look up at the window; The sky once a beautiful shade of afternoon blue had turned a shade of ominous grey and ash white, nearby trees swayed in the wind which caused the window to shudder. Both brothers shared a look, having come to the same dreaded conclusion. If this was more than just a light rain shower with a brief smattering of thunder and lightening, it was going to be a wet and miserable affair tonight.

"I hate rain," Dean grumbled. Sam grunted in agreement.

* * *

The rain pattered hard against the shell of the Impala, Dean watched the windshield wipers slide across the window, its repetitive motion clearing the rain away long enough to see where they were going. The storm had only gotten worse once Dean was finished with the identification cards; they spent the rest of the afternoon making sure all their weapons in the duffle bag were clean, ready for combat.

Sam remembered feeling like they were being shoved away from the Impala by the wind which had increased in speed since the storm began. Inside the car, Dean spent a good two minutes complaining about the whether before falling silent. Sam kept himself busy by going over the floor plan of the Fraternity building on the Elmhurst grounds, marking the best ways inside the building. The Impala rolled up to the curb, just two blocks away from their target, water sloshed away from the tires down into the gutter. Sam rolled down the passenger side window and peered out into the dark.

There wasn't a soul to be seen for miles, apparently they were all smart enough to get out of the rain. He remembered seeing plenty of people partying in the rain during his Stanford days. "See anything?" Dean asked, taking his eyes away from his own window. Sam did a double take, he squinted his eyes, attempting to get a better view of the environment through the thick sheet of rain. He managed to make out the outline of a spotter pot sitting on the edge of the sidewalk before giving up. "Nothing," He said, ducking his head back into the car. Dean frowned. "Alright, looks like we're splitting up. You search the surrounding area, I'll search the, err---" Dean reached into the inside of his jacket to retrieve the paper that Ellen had given him, "---The gamma house," he finished.

Dean started to climb out of the car when a firm hand on his arm stopped him. He looked back to regard his brother's expression, now one-hundred percent bitchface. _And here Dean thought they could get through the night without it._ "Why do I have to check outside?" Sam inquired, eyebrow twitching. Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's brother need to whine, _right now_, genuinely confused by the question. "Because, I'm older, that's why," He answered finally, freeing his arm from Sam's grasp.

"That's crap, Dean, you just don't want to get wet," Sam shot back.

"Oh, what, and you do?" Dean replied, a pointed look gracing his features. 'Stop complaining, and just search your side of the playground, Geek boy."

Sam shot a look at his brother's retreating back, Dean climbed out of the Impala and headed for the back of the vehicle, seemingly unaware of his brother's ire. Sam followed not two seconds later, shivering inwardly as the icy rain drizzled down the back of his neck across his hot skin. If it wasn't hot, it was humid and cold at the same time, Sam just didn't understand what the weather had against them. Dean hefted the hood open and leaned underneath it to escape the rain. Reaching down he grabbed the handle of the secondary compartment and opened the cache, examining the array of weapons at their disposal gained over the years. Dean could recall almost every memory of being taught how to use each weapon that laid spread out inside the cache. He even remembered teaching Sam how to fire a shotgun (typically, with John's permission) properly and watching his brother fall backward every time he fired the weapon. Those were good times.

Reaching in, he snatched up the sawed off shotgun and a magazine for his Taurus PT99, while Sam grabbed a Beretta and the Desert Eagle. Shoving the guns on each side of his pants waistline, he watched as his brother grabbed the duffle bag they had shoved to the side of the trunk. Automatically, he handed the bag to his brother, Sam took it without question.

"Got the books?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, yours is in the duffle," Dean answered distractedly, as he checked over the shotgun. A moment later, he patted chest of his jacket, clearing indicating his book of exorcisms were resting safely with him. Sam nodded, watching his brother's methodic movements. "So, what do we do if either of us finds the frat boys?" He said.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, as he slipped the last shotgun bullet into the tube. "Fire your gun on them--"

"Dean!"

"Okay, fine, not at them. In some random direction, then," Dean said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Chances are one of us will be close enough to hear it."

"Yeah, us and the entire campus," Sam muttered. A grimace crossed Dean's face; He agreed with his brother, but the possible exposure was just a chance they would have take until they got a better long distance communication system. Without another word spoken, the two brothers went their separate ways. Sam hurried across the lawn until he was swallowed up by the darkness, duffle bag bouncing along with him. Dean watched him go then made his way toward the dormant building. The closer he got to the structure, the worse the pit in his stomach became. He couldn't shake it.

* * *

The humid air made for wearing clothing like his an awful experience, especially when your skin became clammy with perspiration. Dean was tempted to shrug off all his jackets and leave them behind, if it weren't for the fact that someone would probably steal them if he did. Readjusting his leather jacket, Dean hurried around the corner, making a b-line for the basement stairs waiting at the end of the building. He trotted down the stairs, reaching into his jacket pocket for his lock pick, prepared for a locked door. However, when he made reach for the door knob, the door opened slightly with the simple push of his fingers. Cautious, Dean pocketed his lock pick and grabbed his gun. Pushing at the door, he peered inside the building.

Through the darkness he could see nothing except the outline of pipes acting as a background for much larger shapes lying in the dark. Slipping inside, Dean was careful to watch as his step as his proceeded further into the basement, ears picking up on the tiniest sounds, amplifying them tenfold. The floor plan he and his brother memorized served as a useful map, he followed the pipes through the basement, his free hand trailing across the cool surface of the wall.

Up ahead he could hear the faint sound of chanting combined with all too familiar sounds of cheering and screaming. Dean paused in his advance, trying to get a better pinpoint on where exactly the sound was coming from. Out of habit, Dean checked his weapon then proceeded toward the door at the end of the basement. The cheering became progressively louder the closer he got; This was it, had to be. Once he got close enough to open the door, he grabbed the knob and stepped out into the vacant hallway. The chanting to became louder, but sounded no closer than before. Looking about, Dean surveyed the hallway, at a loss as to where they could be. "The hell?" He muttered.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sam continued to search outside for any signs of fraternity cult, his flashlight provided little light in the darkness which acted like a secondary wall in the rain. To his dismay, his clothing were soaked through, Sam was half-ready to call it quits at this point. Turning in a half circle, Sam pointed his flashlight towards the far end of the yard, almost immediately he saw a dull light in the distance. He brushed his wet hair out of his eyes, positive his eyes were playing tricks on him from staring into the dark for far too long, but the light remained.

Hoisting the duffle back strap further up on his shoulder, Sam rushed across the soaked terrain as fast as the mud and wet grass would allow him. When he arrived, Sam found himself standing atop a hill, looking down at what appeared to be a circle of pillars surrounding a oval stone table. At least that's what it looked like through the rain and piss poor flashlight. On the side, he spotted the source of the light, a fire pit. _Typical._ Sam looked about the environment, searching for a way down the hill outside of the direct approach ---which would more than likely get him caught, if he hadn't already been spotted up here--- when the all too familiar tingle of pain blossomed in his head. Sam crumpled to the ground, clutching his head. The pain overwhelmed his senses, turning his vision white. He was barely aware of his own body tumbling down the hill before his world turned black, replaced by an entirely different setting.

* * *

_It was like an out-of-body experience; Sam could see, feel, and hear everything from the perspective of the little boy as he stumbled out of the bathroom and shuffled down the hall. The boy was anxious, he scratched the back of his neck constantly whenever something was bothering him. _

_Sam watched as the hall was suddenly filled with awful white light, the next instant, the boy was standing in the doorway of a room that was not his, watching a much younger person sleeping peacefully atop the covers of his lonely bunk bed. The moment sped up again and light illuminated the hall as it passed by. Sam saw flashes of the boy's bedroom wall, covered in scorch marks, a woman, toy fire truck's discarded on the shag carpet floor, and the boy himself tossing and turning erratically in the bed like a movie put in fast-forward. _

_In another flash the environment bled together like wet paint, Sam couldn't make heads or tails of anything it was moving so fast. _The real world began to weed its way back into his mind as the tops of trees and the sensation of rain drizzling across his skin made itself known to him again_. In the final moments of his vision, the number seventeen against a red background and the shadow of a man hovering over baby girl in a crib._

* * *

Sam let out a gasp, his mind reeled from the sudden lost of connection. He winced as the headache continued throb at the very top his head and his eyes, which felt dryer than they should've been, considering the weather. His nervous system slowly became aware of his body again, yet he felt like he was moving through molasses. When he tried to tried to stand up, he was forced back down onto his knees. It gave the youngest Winchester pause, but as his gathered his wits, Sam was quick to realize he was being pinned down something. Or rather, by several someone's.

Looking up through his soaked hair, Sam found the exact same figures he'd seen up on the hill, staring down at him with judgmental eyes. Behind them was a stone altar and on that altar was a young woman, no older than eighteen by the looks of it, a knife plunged into the very center of her stomach. Immediately, remorse bubbled up inside Sam at the sight of her, lifeless eyes staring up at nothing.

"Looks like we got ourselves a uninvited guest," Came a voice from the far left side of the yard. "…and he brought goodies." Sam glanced up at man the moment he stepped into view, taking note of the blood that covered the pale skin of his hands.

_Shit._

* * *

**(TBC)**

* * *

**Authors Note: **For anyone who's bothered to read this, you'll notice that I've changed the name of the mother from **"Angela"** to **"Mary Elizabeth"** McCaffrey; As mentioned before, the script for _Backdraft_ pretty muchs proves that there was at least an idea of a mother created in the tale that was never included for a mention in the movie (so she isn't a OC Character anymore, not really); Their father, Dennis, is buried next to her. There's also some really great stuff in the script that either became one with the "montage" in the film, or just wasn't included (too much exposition for a movie over 2 hours, I suppose). I did some more proof-reading too, so hopefully it reads just a little better now. Until the next chapter! --- **Sakura123**


	6. Interlude I and II: May 28th

**_Nevermore_ Interludes**

**

* * *

**

**May 28th****, 1971**

**

* * *

**

Stephen sat against the wide pillar of brick and cement that separated the shoehorn shaped doorways together, oversized fireman's jacket and boots swallowing on his person save his head and hands. He watched the few firemen that remained behind converse with one another, busying themselves with their assigned duties. He was curious to know how Brian handled the first ride down to a actual fire, he even practiced on the things he would say to his brother, convinced that the kid probably peed his pants at the sight of the "big scary fire".

He doubted anything major happened though, "medium deals" were rarely anything other than a fire a the start of its wick, snuffed by firemen. He kept an eye on the clock, watching the hands tick the hours away, steadily becoming bored with his self-assigned duty as the watchmen. "Back in a minute my ass," He grumbled. The oldest McCaffrey brother sat on the cool concrete floor for another minute, then, climbed to his feet.

No sooner than he did, the sound of fire trucks coming up the street echoed through the block. _Excellent their back!_ Stephen remained in the center of the pillar, watching as the fire truck's rolled into their parking lots. He waited for the sound of excited chatter of his brother and father, eager to join in the festivities. However, the longer he waited, the first thing that became apparent was the silence from both vehicles. The crew climbed out of the trucks, Stephen studied their solemn faces in bewilderment. "Must not have been such a medium deal," He muttered to himself, watching the rest of the men climb off the truck.

"Hey guys," Stephen greeted, awkwardly. Most of the guys barely spared him a glance, they kept their heads down and headed for the closet(s). The ones that did look at him though, wore a great deal of remorse, like they were ready to burst into tears. Stephen let out an easy laugh. "Uh, what's goin' on guys?" He exclaimed, looking around. He paused. "Where's dad and Brian?" Again, no one answered him, now they boy was beginning to feel like he'd stepped into a _Twilight Zone_ episode.

Stephen refocused his attention on engine 17, Axe emerged from behind the last of the firemen, Brian in tow. His brother's complexion looked paler than the white of his own eyes. "Hey guys," He repeated. The sound of his brother's voice seemed to snap Brian out of whatever trance he'd fallen into. Stephen managed to crack a grin for his brother the moment the younger boy looked up at him. What he saw actually scared him; Brian's eyes were red and puffy, his face covered in soot made obvious by the dried streaks when the tears had made their way down his face.

The next instant, he found Brian's arms around his upper body, the boy started to babble nonsense through the fresh batch of sobs that started bubbling from his throat. The most that he could make out was "I'm so sorry, its all my fault!" _Okay, what the hell happened?_ Stephen thought, panicked. Glancing back at Axe, Stephen asked, "Axe's what's goin' on? Everyone's acting weird---" He paused. Leaning sideways to get a better look at the truck behind Axe, upon realizing Dennis was not among either group of firemen. He waited for another second, then focused his attention back on Axe.

"Where's dad?"

Axe finally looked up from the ground, his glazed eyes the most prominent thing against his equally sooty face. "John?" the unbridled use of the man's first name fell from the boy's lips. Reality as he knew came crashing down on him the moment his father's best friend uttered the very thing he never thought he'd hear. "Stevie… there was an accident. Your dad---- there was a gas line," Axe was struggling to the find the right words, Stephen waited, hoping understand what the man was attempting saying to him. Adcox continued on. "He managed to get me out of the way, but there was another fire and… Dennis didn't make it."

Stephen's breath hitched, stopping in the center of his throat. He stared into the face of the man he regarded as a brother like he couldn't comprehend the English language. Dad couldn't be dead, who was going to look after them now? Their mom was gone, there was him and Brian and the last time he checked, kids like them went into foster care (and were separated). The multitude of ways Stephen could've reacted played out in his mind; Denial, screaming, kicking, crying, attacking Axe, he could've done them all. Instead, his emotions went no further than the growing numbness settling in the pit of his stomach.

Blinking rapidly, Stephen pulled away from his brother. He barely felt the tears rolling down his cheeks. With a stiff nod, the boy excused himself, ignoring the calls by Axe to return. He ventured through the building until he found the most isolated part of the firehouse. He huddled in the nearest corner he could find and struggled to breathe against the tightness in his chest. Stephen waited for someone to come get him, waited his dad to come get him and give him a lecture for being such a pussy, but he never came. No one came. Finally, the weight of John's words came crashing down on him, he felt so dizzy. Leaning forward, he stuck his head between his knees and burst into tears.

* * *

"_You wouldn't let me die, would you dad?" Brian asked confidently._

"_McCaffrey's are smarter than fire, Brian," Dennis ruffled his son's hair as he stood from his crouched position. "Hey, how 'bout lunch, huh?" Dennis Rubbed his hands together in anticipation of making his son's some specialties._

_Brian bounced excitedly where he stood while Stephen's face wrinkled at the mere thought. "Ugh," He grunted. "That fireman shit?" The last time he'd eaten anything from the firehouse he puked his guts seven minutes after eating it and all over the dog. Dennis found himself backpedaling at the sound of profanity from his eldest son. Both McCaffrey boys cringed at the disapproving expression on their father's face. "Hey, what's with the mouth? Where'd you grow up, a barn?" _

"_Firehouse," Stephen commented simply, knowing he'd gotten one over his dad. Dennis felt the sides of his mouth curl in mild amusement and irritation. "Cute," He said. "Little smartass."_

_Their moment was interrupted by the shrill ring of the fire alarm. Dennis rolled his eyes, casting the briefest looks to his sons. "It never fails…"_

* * *

The morning sunlight had begun to peek through the curtain of their bedroom when Stephen opened his eyes. Getting out of the bed was the last thing on the elder McCaffrey's mind; he felt worn and outstretched like a rubber band. There wasn't muscle in his body that wanted to move, he was just tired, tired and afraid of facing the new day. Above him on the top bunk, Brian slept soundly, having tuckered himself out from crying the entire day yesterday. Stephen remembered waiting for the return of his brother and father like it happened hours ago, despite knowing a week had past them by.

Casting his glance upward, Stephen suddenly became aware of his brother moving toward the edge of the bunk bed. Rolling over, Steve stared directly at the ladder in time to see his brother descending it. Neither brother really acknowledged the other, Brian studied his brother's sleep deprived face for a moment then looked toward the mattress. Brian made it to the second to last step before threw himself onto Stephen's bed. Usually, Brian jumping on the bed would've sent Stephen up the wall with anger, but as of late Brian noticed his brother didn't seem to care much about anything he did. Crawling up to the top of the mattress, Brian reached over and gave his brother a firm shake. Stephen sat up immediately, hair a absolute mess. Brian stifled a laugh, the first one since his father's death. "You look funny," He said.

"Right back at ya," Stephen murmured, pushing the covers away from his legs. "Whadya want, Brian?"

Brian, who had no concept of beating around the bush, asked, "Who's gonna take care of us now?" _The million dollar question. _"I am," Stephen replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Again, Brian found himself making a face his brother; He may have been seven years old, but that didn't mean he was stupid. "No you can't, your not old enough yet," He countered.

"Says who?" Stephen rebuked, annoyed.

"Says dad, that's who!" Brian shot back.

"Yeah, well, dad's dead Brian. His opinion doesn't count, it stopped counting when he got himself killed," Stephen snapped. Brian shoved his brother as hard as he could, Stephen was caught of guard by the sudden attack and stumbled out of the bed. Using his arms, he caught himself against the window sill, head just inches away from hitting the glass. _That little snot! _"Don't say that! That's not right! Dad's opinion always matters," Brian shouted, close to tears. Stephen regarded his brother's puffy face for a moment then threw a dismissive wave in his direction.

He wasn't in the mood to apologize for making Brian cry, no matter how out of line he was with his statement. Heading over to their drawer, he began searching for clean shirt and pair of pants to wear. Wiping the tears from his face, Brian glared down at his brother's bare back. The "tattoo" he'd gotten when he was much younger remained on the lower left side of his back. "You're so stupid Stephen, I bet you glad---"

"You even _think_ of saying what I think your about to say, I will kill you Brian," Stephen threatened, turning to meet the flabbergasted face of his brother. A beat of silence befell the bedroom, the sound of Adcox talking to someone drifted up through the half open door.

"I wasn't gonna say anything," Muttered Brian after a moment. _Sure you weren't._ Stephen fought the urge to roll his eyes, slipping into his baseball shirt he resumed his search for a pair of pants. Realistically, he knew he would never able or allowed to take himself and Brian on his own, that wasn't how the adult world worked. He remembered Axe telling him that their mother's sister, their aunt, Dakota, would most likely end up becoming their legal guardians.

Stephen wasn't particularly sure how he felt about that situation, but he supposed if they had end up with someone, it might as well be their only living relative. Finally, he found a pair of sweatpants and proceeded to stumble into them. He cast a wary glance toward Brian who'd fallen quiet. Brian sat on the edge of his bed, playing with the frayed ends of his pajama top. _Apology time. _"Look, Brian," He started. "I didn't mean be such a asshole, okay? I mean---" He paused. Brian looked up from his lap, curious. Stephen swallowed roughly. "I miss him, dad. I miss him a lot, but like it or not I'm your older brother and I'm supposed to take care of you. It's what I'm supposed to do."

Brian nodded.

"So even if we end up in foster care, or Axe, or aunt Dakota---"

Brian's nose wrinkled. "Aunt Dakota? Eww."

Stephen laughed. "I know, right? Axe said she's flying over from Washington state to see us again."

"I don't like her, she smell's like soup," Brian commented, climbing off the bed. Stephen shot his brother a sideways look, he'd never noticed their aunt smelled like soup. Moving away from the dresser, Stephen sought out his socks from yesterday. "Anyways, like I was sayin'--- I'm the one who has to finish what mom and dad started. I'm gonna look after you, bro."

Brian slipped into his striped t-shirt with little trouble, peering past his shaggy hair he watched his brother's face grow solemn. "Okay, but who's supposed to look after you Stevie?" Brian asked. Stephen glanced up from his search for socks with a shrug. He wasn't particularly worried about himself. As long as he did right by his parents and looked after Brian, everything would be fine.

As fine as they could be.

* * *

**May 28****th****, 1991**

* * *

_(Baltimore, Maryland)_

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Dean Winchester watched quietly as his father cleaned the inside of his shotgun with methodical attention, never failing to be awed by his father's dedication. Behind John, his brother, Sam, was currently multi-tasking; his attention was divided between busying himself with completing a assignment for his English class and watching a rerun episode of _MacGyver_ from its sixth season. Dean cast a lazy glance toward his own homework and shrugged. He'd get to it later, if ever. "You boys know what to do when I leave, right?" John Winchester's voice drifted from above him.

Looking towards his father's seat at the table, Dean was surprised to find it empty and his father putting his cleaning utensils away inside the duffle bag. Sam looked away from the television screen long enough to utter a clear, "Yessir," John gave an appreciative nod toward his youngest son then turned his attention on Dean.

Dean stopped scratching the cast on his arm and slouching in his chair long enough to give a nod of his head. It was time to recite the cardinal rules. "Don't pick up if it's someone else, you'll ring twice---"

John gave his a son a look, Dean was quick to pick up on his error. "I mean, you'll ring _once_, hang up, then call back, don't pick up otherwise. Shoot first, ask questions later, if your not back by Sunday, call pastor Jim. Lock the doors and windows, and look after Sammy," Dean finished. Sam shot his brother a look at the mention his name along side the term "look after".

"Good, be sure to remember that," John grunted, as he shrugged his jacket on. Dean nodded stiffly to his father, watching the older man bend over to grab his duffle bag. John exhaled slowly, the lack of sleep from last night was beginning to creep up on him, he could only hope that he'd be rested by the time he reached Washington. "I left some money in the cabinet just in case, enough to last week or so. But its _only_ for emergencies. Don't leave the motel otherwise," John ordered.

"What about school, dad?" Sam asked.

"Don't worry about that, Sam. I'll be back before Monday," John assured. "Behave yourselves."

"Yessir," Came the unanimous response. John nodded one last time and headed out of the motel room. Dean exhaled heavily, climbing out of the chair. Hurrying over to the door he was quick to lock it and proceeded to check over the windows. The salt remained untouched, the locks were also still in place. Sam watched him with mild curiosity then returned his attention back to _MacGyver_. When Dean was comforted in knowing that he'd checked over all the security measures taken to protect the room, he made himself comfortable on the couch behind Sam. "Which episode is this?"

Sam shrugged. "_Strictly Business_, I think." Dean sat up a little straighter. "Oh, the one with Murdoc?" Sam gave absentminded nod of his head, Dean grinned. The two brothers sat in silence, completely entranced by the television program. An hour rolled by without their notice, when the show was over Sam tossed the remote toward his brother who snatched it out the air with little problem with his good arm.

Picking up his books, Sam retreated over to the small dinner table, praying Dean wouldn't find something obnoxiously loud to watch while he was trying to concentrate. To his relief, his brother simply stopped on one of the movie channels. Sam was halfway done with his paper when there was a loud cackle from his brother. Dropping his pencil, Sam looked up from his work long enough to send a glare in his brother's direction. Dean paid his brother's would be look of intimidation no mind, he simply pointed to the screen with the remote.

"_Big trouble in little China_ is on! I haven't see this movie in years," He said. Sam continued to glare at his brother, unsure where his good cheer had come from suddenly. He'd spent the last three/four days bitching about the cast and sling on his arm, which immobilized the arm he'd broke. Not even dad's threat of extra "chores" seemed to halt the whining of his older brother. Sam figured it was just deserts; as sorry as he was for hurting his brother, the aftermath of the incident was enough to make Sam wonder if his brother deserved it or not.

"Dean, I'm trying to finish my paper!" Sam proclaimed. Dean shrugged his shoulders. "You can finish it later, Jack Burton's on TV!" His brother retorted. Dean knew how anal his brother was when it came to his schoolwork, any chance to bother him, like this, was too much fun for the older brother. "Who cares, you've seen that movie a thousand times over, I'm trying not to fail this class long enough before we leave," Sam snapped. "Don't you have a paper to work on too?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "_Yes_, but I'll work on it tomorrow," He explained, clearly annoyed by the reminder. Sam mumbled something under his breath and attempted to focus on his paper. In spite of the distraction that was TV and his subconscious reciting lines from the movie, whenever he picked up on one he recognized, Sam managed to finish his English paper. Closing the composition book, he leaned back in the chair, focusing his gaze on Dean's immobilized arm.

Sam hadn't really thought of that night since they left the hospital, he'd put it out of his mind after the stern talking-to he got from his father. Idly he wondered if the man he'd seen in the hallway, as a spirit, was even still alive. Another laugh from Dean shook him from his reverie, he made a face as Dean's gaze shifted to meet his once more. "You missed the best part, man, that guy just blew himself up!" His brother laughed. Sam groaned lowering his head onto the table.

He hated that movie so much.

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**END**

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**Author's Note:** Well I had a lot of fun writing these Interludes (my first in five years), more or less because I couldn't help myself from writing something with a young Dean and Sam in it (along with Stephen and Brian), it was nagging the hell outta me. Alas, this'll probably be the last update for some time though. As much as I'm writing for myself (half the story's been written out already), the absolute lack of reviews (on either this site or LiveJournal) is rather discouraging. I'm not one to go fishing for reviews, but seriously, a little feedback would be nice. Especially to see how people are receiving it or how I'm doing with the characters in other person's opinions (I think I'm doing just fine, but I'm biased :D) so send some my way, huh? Its not a huge request in the least.


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